Shield of Surrender
by Inks Inc
Summary: A century has passed since the legendary Cullen/Volturi showdown. Edward & Bella are stronger than ever before. Their marriage has spanned the decades, morphing and molding until it fits them like a glove. But no-one knows the true depth of their connection. No-one appreciates the ferocity of their bond. Because some things are for behind closed doors only. Warning: BDSM. COMPLETED
1. Chapter 1

Soft and smooth.

It planes delicately across her disrobed and raised ass.

She would have shivered in a previous life. But those days were behind her. She was pure now. A better version of her former self, for she had risen like a phoenix from the ashes. So much had changed. So much remained the same. She cannot see him. But she smells him, tastes him, senses him. He pads barefoot with a slowness of intent. The trail of worn leather follows him obediently, slick and flaccid across the floor. For now. It will come back to her. But she will wait. He will make her wait. On her knees. Hands tied behind her back in a bind that she could break by thinking about it. But she won't. For she never does.

He leans down with a human speed and cups her slender chin in his hand.

"Why, Isabella? Tell me why. I need to understand in order to command. You know that. You also know that I forbade it, did I not? I believe I was very clear on the matter. I know I left you with no doubts as to my meaning. And yet I come to find that you have deliberately defied me. You confess with your own mouth that you went. You went there. Alone. Unprotected and uninvited."

His voice is silkily soft. A sweet succulence she cannot bear.

"You will explain."

His hands leaves her chin and there's a mourning in her. His touch is as burning and all-consuming as it's ever been. One hundred years down the line and it's the first day in Forks High School all over again. He will forever be her addiction. Her poison of choice wrapped up in the sweetest of cures. He steps back from her now and she knows his eyes are burning as if he were in the change. That's how much she affects him to this day. The red-hot poker effect. Their passion expands across the breadth of time. It is legendary. But none know of their secret persuasion. None know that she leads in public and knees in private. All are oblivious to the fact that she shields in the light and surrenders in the dark.

"I thought I could persuade them. I thought I could make them understand. They were going to hurt you and I couldn't bear it. I couldn't stand by and wait for them to come. They cannot hurt me like they can hurt you. I had to go."

His hand swoops down to cup her chin once more.

His thumb traces the wide lines of her rosebud mouth and a groan rips from his throat.

"When will you ever learn, Isabella? When will you ever see yourself through the world's eyes? You are my greatest strength and you are my most blinding weakness. They know it. Everyone knows it. They _wanted_ you to go. Which is why I forbade it. Why I expressly forbade it. They wanted to use you to get to me, with untold damage being wreaked upon you in the process. How many _times_ must I teach you this lesson? You are but a century old. Still a foetus. You do not yet appreciate the tension that has existed in our world since its inception."

His hand slips from her chin once again and her senses bleed.

"The Volturi do not forgive and they do not forget, Isabella. Our confrontation with them all those years ago still scars their psyche with a growing force. Every day, they embitter themselves further. They are a patient tribe and they will not strike again without the adequate provocation. These _whispers_ we have heard about their plans for me are but an insignificant speck of their overall plan. They wanted us to hear them, Isabella. They desired your reaction. Knew how you would think, what you would do."

He paces now and the controlled anger rolls off his bared torso like thunder.

"I warned you of this. But you thought you knew better. You assumed to consider yourself more educated on the matter than I who have lived through their reign when your great-grandparents still hadn't drawn their first breath. Carlisle told you. Esme told you. Emmett, Rosalie and Alice told you. But you did not deign to listen. You disobeyed me and betrayed my trust. But worst of all, Isabella, is that you did all this without the slightest consideration for our _daughter."_

His teeth are bared now and she senses it behind her thick blindfold.

"She knows nothing," he continues in a delicate cadence that sends ripples of apprehension through her. "I thought of her when her mother did not. Which brings us full circle to today. You have no explanation to offer other than you wilfully defied my instructions because you couldn't trust me to know the things you do not. We have these rules for a reason, Isabella. A compelling reason. A bindingly beautiful reason. You give yourself to me and I worship the ground you walk upon because of it. You submit to me and yet, you hold all the power. I know it. I love and learn with it. I revolve around it. I orbit you and you me."

The soft trail of leather leaves the floor and loops into his hands.

"But I cannot permit such wilful disobedience. Especially where your safety is concerned. I didn't tolerate it when you were a wisp of a human girl and I'm certainly not going to accept it when you are my creed and my wife. There will be no repeat performance of this exploit. You will never disregard my orders on this matter ever again. Your safety is not a gambit. Your life is my life. Your existence is my existence. I will not tolerate a scenario where that ceases to be the case. You deliberately misinterpreted my words of warning regarding the Volturi. You knew there would be consequences that rivalled those of the century behind us. You will not misinterpret my words now. I plan to be very, very clear with you."

He's as close as he can be without touching her now.

His scent invades her nostrils.

Her head bows further under his proximity and verbiage. Guilt is acidic within her as she truly understands the extent of her folly. A world without Edward was a world she could not coexist with. She knew she would throw herself to the wolves rather than live a day without him. Her selfishness and arrogance could have cost them both their lives. Her acceptance softens her naked body and he reads it like a morning newspaper.

"Your safeword, Isabella, what is it?"

Her scent changes as she whispers softly, her back arching in preparation.

"Anaphase, Sir."

She sees him nod in her mind's eye and knows the time has come before he speaks. The strap pools neatly in his hands and he readies himself to transform Isabella back to Bella and discipline back to pleasure.

"Rise for your punishment, Isabella."

…..

TBC

A/N: I don't know how long this will be as this is my first foray into Twilight fiction of this nature. Just a BTW: Edward is not going to be cold or abusive in this and Bella is not going to be weak or snivelling. This is a predetermined and consensual relationship between two strong ass people who've been alive long enough to know if it's what they want or not – lol!

Inks x

…


	2. Chapter 2

His voice coats her like a sheen of bubbling wax.

If her legs still possessed the ability to tremble, her knees would knock together as she rose with a grace that eluded her in human life. Her scent was all she had to guide her. The blindfold that enrobed her eyes would remain until her punishment was complete. Until she had earned back the privilege of her amber sight. A phantom ripple of goosebumps encase her, a neural mirror-image of a previous life. She feels no fear. He will never give her more than she can take. He will push her to the extreme cusp of her limits. She will teeter upon them, her safeword tickling her lips, before he'll pull her back from the cliff-edge and into his arms.

She smells the worn leather horse before she feels it.

She sees it in her mind's eye before he expertly bends her over it.

The cuffs on her wrists and ankles are a mental bind. Physically, she could rip herself free with the same effort it would take to whisper his name. Long ago, on the outset of their deepest connection, they had decided together that she needed assistance in surrendering her body and mind. Being tied down, blindfolded and presented in her entirety, was that assistance. He is starkly silent as he effortlessly tightens the padded cuffs. She is now at hip height. Splayed and readied. As ever, he takes a moment to succumb to her mind-numbing beauty. But that's not what this is about. This is about discipline. Education. The continuing safety of everything he holds dear.

His family.

He closes his eyes for a moment. Out of habit more than anything else. She will never know, for it would weigh on her, but their harsher sessions imprint upon his soul. He relishes their lifestyle. Revels in it. Their playtime is something that would have kept him up at night had he slept. It never ceased to make centuries of life worth living. But correcting the behaviour he was about to correct was something different. Something darker. Something deeper.

The long strap in his hands has seen decades of chastisement.

It is not for play.

She knows it. He knows it.

"Isabella," he murmurs softly, "Is this the first time that I've had to illustrate the error of your ways in this matter?"

Her smooth back tenses and he watches it with a certain sadness. If there is one thing that is sure to bring out the leather strap, it is a repeat offence. He resists the urge to place a comforting hand on her back. Mixed signals were the death of a lesson well learned. He hears the soft parting of her lips before quiet words spill out.

"No, Sir."

"And the last time we had this conversation, what did I say would be the outcome of a repeat performance? What did I assure you would happen if you ever were to defy me in relation to the Volturi again?"

To her unyielding credit, she does not hesitate.

"You said that you would bring out the flogger, Sir."

He gazes down upon her, allows the tension to thicken and congeal into a blanket of trepidation that nestles over her naked body. Her mind whirs into overdrive as she smells his stationary scent. Knows that his amber eyes are drilling into her back, her ass, her everything. This is purposeful. This is about showing who is in control. He will speak when he chooses to speak. She will speak when spoken to. A display of dominance that entangles her before the first stitch of leather slices across her prone buttocks.

His voice is a warm, flowing murmur when he finally responds.

"Tell me, Isabella, did you think I was joking? Did you think me not serious?"

Her voice is an octave lower than its usual register, submission truly kicking in.

"No, Sir."

He pads around her, drinking her in from all conceivable angles.

"So, you knew there would be a cost to your folly? You acted in defiance in the full knowledge that when I found out, your ass would be strapped to this whipping horse? You set out for Italy completely informed as to what awaited you when you got home?"

Her head drops lower, the smooth thunder of his tone weighing her down.

"Yes, Sir."

He circles her again. Like a wolf stalking its prey.

"Then you cannot have any objection to what is about to unfold here today? You have no reservations about the strap in my hands and the flogger at my feet biting into your bare cheeks? You maintain absolutely no complaint about the crimson coat that is going to cling to your rear for a long, long time after I am finished with you? Is that correct, Isabella?"

Her dark hair falls into her pale face as she nods slowly.

"Yes, Sir."

His eyes darken. Amber inches towards brown as he steels himself. This is not a task he takes lightly. She is his everything. His reason for being. His morning, noon and night. Her bodily safety is something that consumes him on an hourly basis. Being the one to deliberately paint stripes of red on her porcelain ass is not something he does with nonchalance. Her pain is his pain.

But her loss would be his loss.

Which would, ultimately, be Renesmee's loss.

That scenario would never be acceptable.

"Then I think you have something to say, Isabella."

This was always the hardest part for her. Of course, the pain was biting, lasting and appreciable. But it was the psychological aspect that was her most trying obstacle. He waits patiently. It will take a moment. For it always does. Her chastisement will commence almost instantly after her mouth forms her last syllable. He sees her take the breath that she doesn't need. A human trait that lays dormant in her until times of pressure encase her.

 _"_ _Before an ounce of submission can be given, every ounce of trust must be earned. You have earned my trust. I have given you my submission. I am yours. You are mine. We are one."_

She sinks deeper over the horse, every muscle letting go. With their promise to each other spoken, the one that never changed, her freelancing words were about to push her over the last hurdle.

"When I went to the Volturi, I broke our circle. I put myself on the outside of our trust. I shielded my mind from you and placed myself in unnecessary, reckless danger. I could have broken our family apart because I did not listen. I was wrong."

He closes his eyes. Pride soars within him like an Eagle overhead.

"I need to be corrected, Sir. I need to be corrected and I submit."

His hand instantly rests on the small of her back. Grounding her. Restraining her. The wide leather strap becomes an extension of his right arm. He controls it with finesse and an unyielding accuracy. There is no more conversation as it begins its first of many arcs into the air. She smells it as it whistles through the swing. She pictures it in her mind as its descension begins.

It cascades against her splayed cheeks with an ear-splitting crack.

She hears it before she feels it. Her eyes burst open as the biting pain registers in her mind. He was never gentle, but this was on a different plain to her usual castigations. If she were human, the momentum behind the worn strap would have removed particles of skin. As it was, it merely binds her in a cage of white-hot pain. She is unable to prevent the small whimper of agony that escapes her clenched teeth.

He pauses mid-swing just long enough to murmur softly.

"Yes, Isabella, defiance will always cause you pain. I promise you that."

The second lash was even more intense than the first. A thick stripe of brightest red screams against her pale behind. By the third strike, he settles into a momentum that will remain with her for days to come. She is usually much quieter during her punishments, but today was to be an exception. Her cries and moans of pain rip at him like shrapnel as he applies the leather to its fullest extent.

It is only when her full cheeks are a blood curdling red that he ceases.

Momentarily.

He speaks just loudly enough to be heard above her tearless tears.

"If this had been a first-time transgression, we would be finished now. But this is not a first-time transgression. This is a third-time transgression. So, Isabella, instead of being gathered into my arms right now and having your blindfold removed, I must kneel and retrieve the flogger. It's been three years since I've had to apply it to your disrobed behind and I hope it's another three years before I must do so again. Do I make myself plain?"

Her throaty voice, so unlike her own, cuts him to the quick.

"Yes, Sir."

How he longs to release and comfort her. The pains he overcomes to retrieve the long handle of the flogger are many and varied. He eyes the leather trails as they hang inoffensively with distaste. But a promise was a promise, and he never broke his. Not to her. Not ever. As the strap falls to the floor and the leather strips of the rarely used implement are placed against her crimson cheeks, she shudders.

The first strike has her straining at her bonds.

She does not break them.

As she so easily could.

The second has a yowl of primal pain ripping from her throat. She bucks against her hold and gasps in anguish. His heart splinters as he readies himself for the third and fourth licks, knowing that she is writhing in anguish. As the fifth and sixth applications of the unyielding flogger splash across her pulsating and clenched buttocks, she breaks.

Her torso deflates like a pierced balloon over the horse.

Her head hangs as breathless, tearless sobs escape her.

The flogger instantly drops to the floor.

He has always been the fastest of his family, but he makes even himself dizzy with the speed of his limbs. A nanosecond is all that elapses before he lifts her with ease from the horse, pulling the blindfold softly from her currently contorted, yet still stunning, face. She pushes her features into his bare torso, seeking out his warmth as the all-consuming pain brings her back to the change. He cradles her to him, rubbing a gentle hand through the thick, dark hair. Her eyes remain clenched shut.

As he floats down onto the nearby sofa, he begins to sing.

It is the only thing that brings her back to him.

As the musicality of his deep voice drips over her, she slowly stirs in his arms. He holds her closer. Closer than close. There is no hurry. His voice croons out in an almost staccato melody, yet flowing like a river. She slowly untenses. Muscle by muscle, she begins to unwind. It will be a while before she opens her eyes. His voice fans over her, soothing her frayed neurons better than any surgeon ever could. By the time he was on her third favourite song, pools of amber blink up at him.

His smile is as breathtaking as the first time she ever bore witness to it.

His voice is warm honey on a summers day.

"Welcome back, Bella."

Bella.

One simple word. A three-letter adaption. A simple change of voice. A sunrise lightening of kind eyes. The rhythmic carding of a caring hand through soft hair. All things that put Isabella to bed and bring Bella back to the fore. There will be no need for a drawn-out discussion. A play-by-play of the whys and the wherefores. They were a century passed all that. Their minds were on a different level. They transcended the ordinary into the extraordinary. They were the Cullen's.

"It's good to be back, Edward."

…..

A/N: I could leave this here or expand it out into a multi-chaptered fic. It's super fun to write, but I've never done these two before I don't know how I feel about whether I've done them justice or not. Let me know what you think and if you'd like to see this story end at this point or continue!

A/N Edit: Decided to leave them here, with the possibility of revisiting them through a sequel some day!

Inks x

….


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